Jonathan Crane: The Origin of The Scarecrow
by Minion and Megamind
Summary: Jonathan Crane wasn't always a well respected doctor or a well feared villian. His tale began within his last year of highschool as a tragic chain of events determined his destiny. Prequel to Mors Et Timor. -By Minion
1. Chapter 1: The beginning

**Ello! Minon here with the background story to my favorite villian ^-^ . I love Dr. Crane with all~ my heart! Sadly it seems to me that the master of fear isn't very well known or appreciated-I hope to change that. While researching *cough cough, obsessively fangirling* over Scarecrow for a while I decided to write a backstory and although it can stand on it's own it is seen as a bit of a 'prequel' or 'prologue' to Megamind and Minion's next top secret story that we're we're currently working on! There is an OC but don't worry, this is a tradegy after all and everyone knows Dr. Crane is best alone (tehe...for now anyway ^-^). Also i do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins or anything affiliated with it. With that in mind, enjoy!**

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><p>"W-would you like to go to the homecoming dance with me?" I asked, cursing myself for stammering. No wonder the school picked on me, I made myself such an easy target. My intended date looked up from her writing with a startled expression. Shocked she looked at me then down at her desk then back at me. I braced myself for the rejection—<p>

"I'd love to," she said without the slightest hint of a Georgian accent.

I blinked and looked up at her even though my glasses had fallen slightly down my nose. She was smiling sweetly, a small blush playing on her cheeks only partially hidden by her long and slightly frizzy hair. I knew to not be flattered though, she was a fairly odd girl. Outgoing in arguments, brilliant when acting small skits in class, but in daily conversation or in class she blushed any time some form of attention fell on her.

I smiled widely then checked my eagerness, I didn't want to scare her off.

"Cool," No, that sounded horrible!

She smiled then seemed uneasy, "So, um, are we meeting here...or?"

I practically stumbled over myself trying to explain, "Well we could if you want—or I mean I could pick you up. I don't know where you live though...but I don't need to, it's okay if you don't want me to know. I—"

"Jonathan, calm down," she said laughing lightly then wrote something down on the edge of her spiral, tearing it out she handed it to me, "Here's my address and phone number...oh do you have your suit planned, I mean is there anything you'd like me to wear...or to not wear?"

It was an awkward question and it left her red but I understood. She was often criticized for her dark clothing and odd interest in morbid or old fashioned things. She probably had a few interesting dresses at home and I found myself uncaring of what she wore as long as she didn't stand me up, like I had been...four times before.

"It's fine, wear whatever. I mean I'm sure your dress will be fine."

She bit her cheek but nodded then the bell rang and class started so I took my seat a few desks behind her on the nearby row. That day it was hard to pay attention in class. I didn't need to of course, I had covered this material in the previous year but it was the middle of school and most teachers saw it fit to reteach last years work for almost half this years time. Hardly productive...

No, it was hard to focus because of the whispers that carried around the room. Although neither of us had said a word, the rest of the class picked up on our date. Speculations were made, and insults hissed at me but I only stuck my nose in a book and tried to tune them out as I thought over my week.

It was only Tuesday and the dance was this Friday, even though the week was young I found myself worn down by my classmates. I was a constant target with my peers due to my bookish appearance. I was tall, lanky, and always kept my nose in a book. I suppose the Georgian heat went to their heads of the rest of the population and reduced their logic to a level below most multiple celled organisms.

At home it was no better, my grandmother who had raised me for most my life was a strict, crazy loon. Overly religious and stern she made daily life hell. We lived in a remote house within some of Georgia's famed cornfields...I hated that house. It's peeling paint, creaking stairs, musty attic where I slept...that was a house of horrors although the worst was my grandmother.

She was a slight thing, barely surpassing five feet but held a sharp tongue and a long, hard memory. To this day she mocked me for wetting the bed when I was a child at the age of two. She ridiculed me for 'misplacing' my glasses and 'wearing out' my clothes. Only a woman of her age and temperament would be so blind as to assume a child who carried constant bruises and torn clothes wasn't being bullied.

I never told the old coot, I never told anyone...and no one cared. What did one clumsy, awkward bookworm matter to the mayor's son who was winning a scholarship with the state's leading university? Why bother pressing charges against the rich children of the upper class for defiling a poverty ridden teenager? Before I had entered highschool and scholarships were things unheard of (for most children at least), the many children who tormented me paid no penance for their crimes.

No matter the days they beat me into the dirt, ripped the pages from my prized books. Nevermind the time they strung me up on a wilting, wooden fence and beat me til I lost consciousness. What did it matter if they mocked me and once tried to drown me in the nearby pound (we were too poor for the local pool and I had never learned to swim, my grandmother's monthly 'baptizes' aside)? No, it didn't matter...everyone looked the other way, teachers swallowed and turned to cajole the other children while I sat in a dingy corner alone. It didn't matter because no one cared...I eventually began to not care.

My mother was among those who neglected me. I was an unwanted burden on her: a mistake. After an affair with my father, a drug dealing carpenter, I was born with my frail body that seemed to repel any love. I grew up without a mother's touch, aside from her cold glare and hissing remarks when she mustered the strength to leave her room at all. Obviously she blamed me for her mistake and wanted no part of my life...The fact stun but I didn't mind it so much anymore. Although I did find it interesting how my relapsing 'mother' escaped the rants and 'teachings' of God which my grandmother forcibly drilled into me.

Yet I wasn't completely overlooked. I remember on my Sophomore year of highschool I was silently waiting between finals for the next class to begin. That day there were twenty minute passing periods to allow lingering test takers additional time. During those twenty minutes I swiftly made my way to the next class and waited in wary suspense for the doors to open and shelter me before I was found by any of the bullies.

_Sitting aside from me on the opposite wall, Madeline (although I didn't know it at the time), was sitting and staring off into space occasionally as she wrote on a spiral, uncaring of the potential danger. I paid her no mind, she didn't seem from Georgia with her black pants, black shirt, and was that a black trench coat? Surely no one would dare wear such dark colours even during Georgia's winter, the weather barely fell past 60 degrees!_

_However she seemed perfectly fine and although she shirked from the sneers and whispers sent her way she didn't change her mannerisms. I checked my watch (a cheap thing made of Velcro and plastic) and found there to only be ten minutes left. I wiped a bit of sweat from my hair and impatiently urged the doors to open faster before—_

_"Oh look who it is, little Scarecrow all alone..." _

_I froze at the voice but resumed my staring at the wall, knowing acknowledging him would only worsen things. In fact any type of response, pleasant or harsh, was unaccepted yet at the same time my silence would make things worse. There was no way to win but I found if I tuned out enough I wouldn't hear their mocking laughter so vividly in my nightmares. _

_I saw Madeline shift but remained where she was. I felt a sort of anger and sympathy toward her. I yearned to yell at her, asking her to both leave and save me but I kept my silence. _

_"What's a matter, you never seem to talk anymore?" his face filled my eyesight, his brown hair cut close to his head which only drew unflattering attention to his meaty neck and cheeks. This was Marcus, one of the school's football players and one of my usual tormentors. _

_Lightly he tapped me on either side of my face which stun a bit but I continued to stare at the wall. He then pulled up at my cheeks, "You look so serious, you should smile more."_

_I felt trapped against the wall but refused to let my panic show. I knew the beating would be swift and painful but I didn't know when it would happen. Marcus shifted his weight then I heard Madeline speak in a lilting voice that was both calm and heavy. _

_"I don't think he wan**t**s to tal**k**," the way she emphasized the 't' and 'k' yet smoothly went over the words left me thinking she had an accent of some sort. She clipped her words strangely but before I could think more on it Marcus turned to look at her. _

_"What does it matter what you think?"_

_She exhaled her cheeks reddening and seemed to be struggling with herself. _

_"Aww, do you feel bad for this sack of straw? Have a little crush on the Scarecrow?"_

_She stood up somewhat clumsily but held her head high, her clipped way of speaking beginning to fade, "I'm warning you to walk away."_

_He laughed (well it was a comical sight with her trench coat seeming to swallow her up aside from her long and slightly unruly hair) and turned his back on me. I know what most heroic people would have done. They would want me to attack him from behind and together Madeline and I would become the closest of friends...but it didn't happen that way. _

_He came closer and I watched with a sort of vengeful curiosity. She hadn't done anything to deserve whatever was coming, in fact she was trying to help me and yet I found I didn't want to help her. She'd learn her lesson then leave me alone and if I even tried to help her I'd only make things worse for myself. So I watched as Marcus drew closer and her cheeks remained reddened, I could almost see the fear and worry rolling off her but she stood her ground. _

_"Or what?" he sneered in her face. _

_Without warning she grabbed him and pulled him closer then pushed him against the wall. The shock allowed him to be easily moved but all of his raging strength was useless as she made a fist and awkwardly hit him in his collarbone. She backed away quickly, her breathing faster yet her glare remained. He cried out holding his shoulder and pulled down his shirt. I was confused, she had swiftly tapped him, how would that-_

_I saw the red skin with two red lines leaking blood. The wounds weren't overly devastating but definitely needed more than a bandage to heal completely. _

_"You fucking bitch!" he yelled and looked at her horrified, "You freak! What the fuck's your issue?"_

_He then shook his head and left across the hall. I was in shock...she stabbed him? _

_I swallowed, "Y-you stabbed him?"_

_She paused as if she hadn't thought of it that way then looked at me nervously, "I-I guess so..."_

_She then lifted the object in her hand I saw...a pen and a pencil? She laughed slightly her cheeks fading in colour as she expertly recited with a audible yet controlled voice that wove emotion and pride into her words._

_" True, This! —_

_Beneath the rule of men entirely great,_

_The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold_

_The arch-enchanters wand! — itself a nothing! —_

_But taking sorcery from the master-hand_

_To paralyse the Cæsars, and to strikeit_

_The loud earth breathless! — Take away the sword-_

_States can be saved without it."_

_I smiled feeling an odd sense of affection toward her; she was obviously dangerous and impulsive (and quite fluent in literature) but seemed to mean me no harm. Either way the bell rang and she looked up sharply then seemed to shrink before my eyes. She quickly gathered her things then looked at me quickly as if she was afraid of me, "Sorry," she said then quickly left. _

_"Sorry?" I echoed._

Apart from that she hadn't bothered me again. She gave me odd looks, curious looks, in the hallways but kept her distance. Whenever she saw someone taunting me her eyes flashed and she seemed at war with herself. Usually she began walking toward me but I turned away and ran down the nearest stairwell or hallway to avoid her. I didn't need her thinking I _wanted_ a savior. Not only was she an outcast but she was a woman! It'd be an open target for more ridicule! Even if I allowed her to help me she may want to become friends which I could not allow.

If she ever met my grandmother...I shuddered just thinking of it. My grandmother was a horrid old bat, she often accused me of masturbating in the cornfields after school (an explanation for the days I returned sweaty, with dirty clothes an hour late) or raping little children in the town (somehow derived from the way little children seemed to hate me, often spurned on by their older siblings...my 'peers'). Even if I brought her home as a friend and she spent the entire time talking with my grandmother, the crazed woman would later accuse me of some atrocious crime or worse yet accuse Madeline of being a witch or some nonsense from her dark clothes.

No, I thought it to be much safer to leave Madeline alone and hope she did the same. So then my asking her to the dance would seemed like the most counterproductive thing I could possibly do...and it was. This was my senior year of highschool. For too long I've been taunted for my glasses or made fun of for my long hair (which couldn't afford annual haircuts so I improvised with rusty scissors which were a struggle to use). I had sharp features and a lanky frame so I earned myself many nicknames the most infuriating: Scarecrow.

I grew tired of being pushed around and soon I would be rid of this town and its people. Already I was eighteen but I needed my highschool diploma if I were to ever leave this place. And as my last year I would make the most of it. Still I was bullied and taunted but if any of my tormentors had cared to look me in the eye they would have been shocked. The fearful gaze and pleading eyes were gone. Oh yes, they would be shocked for now there was only grim determination and a dark glint that sometimes surprised myself. They would be so shock—no shocked isn't the right word...If they had cared to see the look I had in my eyes as they tortured me they would be _scared_.

The bell rang and I mindlessly gathered my things, perfecting the timing so I wouldn't be alone in the hallways and earn an early beating but also so I wouldn't be too slow and left to straggle with the majority of the waiting bullies. On the way out Madeline gave me a smile, blushing slightly, then suddenly jumped to me and for a moment I was worried. The only times I've seen her lunge at people is to stab them (she quickly caught a reputation although somehow remained unreported). Except I found myself enveloped in a warm hug.

A hug...she hugged me? I felt the smooth yet stiff fabric of her trench coat bunch up and the warmth as she was momentarily pressed against me (I blushed thinking through the implications of that). As soon as it had happened it was over, she pulled away smiling and tilted her head, "I'm looking forward to Friday."

I looked into her blue green eyes confused, she seemed both nervous and happy but after seeing my intense look with my too pale blue eyes (creepy the others called them) she shrunk a bit and blushed, "Sorry."

Before I could stop her she left and was left behind once more echoing her response, "Sorry?"


	2. Chapter 2: The Night of Homecoming

**Ello! Minion here, hope you've enjoyed my story so far. Also I do not in any way , shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins or anything affiliated with it. With that in mind, enjoy!**

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><p>I wasn't sure what to expect when I pulled up to her apartment complex. Surprisingly the town had a few apartments although they were hardly fell under suitable living standards . My home was by no means a better alternative but I still felt wary as I locked my grandmother's car (an old thing just like her) and pulled out the slip of paper I had already memorized. Second floor, door 13#.<p>

I smoothed down my hair and pushed my glasses up further on my nose then walked up the short flight of stairs and checked the time, 7:45 precisely. I knocked on the door loudly enough to be heard but quietly enough to not be seen as impolite. For a moment I feared I would be stood up...again. Then the door was opened by Madeline herself. She smiled at me and opened the door, "Come in."

I paused then complied and discretely viewed her apartment. Her family kept it in good condition and it seemed fairly normal if not a bit scarce of ornaments or décor. Not wanting to seem rude I looked her over quickly so my compliment would be well founded and not a generic reply. True to my thoughts her dress in question was not a generic one.

Apart from the dress' black slip the dress itself seemed to be entirely made of smooth black lace with an elaborate sequined cinching design on her side. The smooth lace then flowed down to her waist where the ruffled lace tapered off at an angle down her legs. It was unique and beautiful. The flare of the dress accented her wide hips but the cinched side drew slight attention to her smooth waist and, er, well fitting bodice. The dress was both modest and attention grabbing even as it tried to slip into the shadows. The ensemble was only accented by her long hair curled and pinned in an almost Victorian manner with tendrils hanging down. Even without any jewelry or makeup I found her stunning.

"Most sure, the goddess on whom these airs attends!" I said quoting a Shakespeare play and hoping to intrigue her interest with literature.

She blushed and looked down so I took her hand and gently tied a small corsage around her left wrist. To compliment her I dipped into my saved up money and bought a vibrant tiger lily. The lily itself was a sort of compliment but the true flattery lied in its meaning. As all lilies represented compassion and mercy (both of which she gave me) but the tiger lily stood for a more aggressive femininity.

Her eyes lit up and then she smirked, "You compliment me with a cautious greeting used in Shakespeare's play _The Tempest_ then you bring me a tiger lily? Are you that cautious?"

I smiled surprised she understood, "I respect you and wish you well, are those intentions usually seen as cautious?"

She blushed and looked down, "Sorry..."

There was the sound of a door opening then closing and she whipped her head up then composed herself and picked up her infamous trench coat which was on the slightly faded couch, we were almost out the door when she called back, "I'm out!"

There was some scuffle of noise but she quickly closed the door and locked it with a key she drew from her coat's pocket. Smiling reassuringly at me she took my offered arm as I helped her down the stairs then into my car. Yes, she was an odd one indeed. For a moment I was taken off guard...I had a date, she didn't ditch me! Then it settled in...I had a date, what would I do?

Thankfully I didn't have to worry so much for she was fairly quiet in the car, merely staring out the window at the passing cornfields. We were almost at the highschool when she spoke.

"Do you think he's lonely?"

I was taken off guard, I quickly scanned the road then glanced into her window and saw a glimpse of a scarecrow. How amusing...

I shrugged, "I don't think it really matters if he's lonely or not. No one's going to sit there all day while he's up on display like that. Scarecrows are used day in and day out until they can no longer keep themselves together."

She paused, frowning deeply, but I had to look back to the road.

"Well then I'll have to spend tomorrow with him."

I scoffed, "You're going to spend all day in the Georgian sun with the scarecrow tomorrow?"

She replied without hesitation, "Of course, although I may bring an umbrella and a blanket. I've always been curious about scarecrows they seem so...tragic but magnetic."

Yes, she was truly an odd one indeed. By now we past the cornfields and were pulling into the school's busy parking lot.

She looked over at me and I met her eyes, "Will you come with me? I tend to ramble when I speak and I wouldn't want to bore him," she giggled, "after all he can't walk away if he is annoyed."

I blinked, then swiftly moved into a parking space as we were honked at, "Sure..."

Although I was in the process of parking she leaned over and rested her head on my shoulder, "Thank you, Jonathan."

A blush rose to my cheeks and for a moment I was frozen but then she moved back and gently caressed the edge of the tiger lily's petal. Without much trouble I turned off the car then swiftly exited. Thankfully she wasn't paying attention and undid her seatbelt later which allowed me time to open her door and escort her out. After a moments thought she removed her trench coat and placed that in the seat before facing me again. I offered my arm to her smiling intently, she was red but looked happy as she conceded. Together we walked into the school's outer courtyard and waited in line for the ticket taker.

Whispers surrounded us, cruel names and insults were called out but she seemed immune to it all. That strength...that patience...how could she be so calm? I've seen her explosive temper in action but tonight she just seemed content to be pressed against my side. The physical contact was new, I found myself feeling..._nice_. Yes, this evening was very nice indeed. I hadn't been stood up (again) and now my date was happy. Soon our turn came and we were then ushered in the building away from the mild chill of winter.

The inside had petty decorations: streamers the colour of the school, balloons tied in bunches, dimmed lights with rotating strobe lights flashing and around inducing a headache. There were even stenciled designs on each wall...utterly pathetic. I was about to comment when I glanced to Madeline who seemed completely enraptured by our surroundings. She looked around as if she was trying to memorize the room, however she was able to concentrate with the pounding music pervading the air I was unsure.

She leaned closer to me and spoke loudly to be heard over the music, "This is my first dance."

I raised both my eyebrows but lowered them so as not to offend her. Instead I smiled and leaned down, "Then I hope it shall be the best."

She had trouble looking me in the eyes so I lead us to the dancefloor then remembered...I was always stood up at school dances, I didn't know _how_ to dance. She seemed stiff as well, looking out at the other dancers in the steadily growing crowd. Much to my horror I saw all manner of terrible things. Girls rubbing themselves provocatively against guys and girls alike, some were bent half over as they moved to the beat or at least they did until a teacher reprehended them.

Feeling courageous I stepped in front of her and slid my arms around her waist. Her breathe caught yet she looked up at me nervously. Not wanting to let the comment grow awkward I slowly moved my hips slowly and used my hands to direct her. After a minute I stopped feeling foolish for none of the other guys seemed to be dancing; however Madeline smiled and started moving to the beat then turned around and, er um, _brushed_ against me.

I was frozen for a moment until someone jostled me and I moved in smaller motions against her starting to enjoy the strange but invigorating dancing. After a few more songs and different styles of dancing, including a line dance in which the instructions were given over the speaker (_very_ helpful that was) the music slowed for a country song. I suppose it made sense after all we _were_ in Georgia but most of the teenagers groaned then began to square dance without complaint.

Madeline looked awkwardly toward me, she leaned in close and said, "I don't know how to square dance."

I smiled (because I did know...my grandmother made sure of it), "It's alright I'll show you."

The next two songs were also square dancing songs and I found it a pleasure to lead her around watching her bit her lip in concentration then beam up at me. Although the next thirty minutes was filled with similar dance music as before I found myself _happy_...this was definitely the best thing I've done this year. Not once had someone beat me or called out my infuriating nickname, I saw many point and a few laugh but not one incident had occurred.

Suddenly a slow dance played and Madeline burrowed her way closer and rested her head on my chest. I moved with her although I was self conscious of my furiously beating heart, could she hear it?

"Thank you..." she said and her breath tickled my neck.

I pulled away slightly so she was forced to look at me, "For what?"

She gave me a sweet, genuine look and my heart skipped a beat, "For everything, Jonathan."

Then without a word she leaned closer reaching slightly (although she was 5'6" she wore heels which brought her up to about 5'8" whereas I was a tall 6'3") and gave me a soft kiss on my cheek. Instantly I blushed and looked down at her deep smile. She...kissed me? Me, scarecrow, the poor bookworm. No she kissed me, Jonathan, the misunderstood, lonely teenager.

Without a word I drew her away from the crowd and into the hallways when a teacher wasn't looking. She was silent for once and didn't ask me where we were headed, for that I was grateful: I wanted this to be a surprise. She giggled as I checked around the corner cautiously then pulled her along and up a staircase. Now we were on the second floor (thankfully the school was low on their budget and couldn't afford fancy chains or collapsing metal dividers so the entire school was open). She fidgeted slightly as I opened another door which lead into a dark interior. Knowing the way I gently pulled on her slightly sweaty hand and we climbed one more stairway before I opened the last door and we were met with cool air.

She gasped and stood still, taking in the sight with much amazement.

"Jonathan...it's—wow..."

I agreed, after I found the rooftop one afternoon I often hid here from the bullies I couldn't outrun (which was saying something). One afternoon I was forced to hide until dark which is when I realized just how beautiful the Georgia stars were at night. Wishing I had brought a blanket or something I lead her to the middle of the roof, "I...you've been amazing all night, Madeline."

She looked at me suddenly, "Me?"

I nodded and took a risk by turning her to me and leaning down. Just as I was about to kiss her the door opened again and a loud voice called out, "Eh Scarecrow, what cha' up to?"

"Eww, he's making out with the witch!" a squealing voice added.

I looked up, still holding Madeline, and saw Sherry Squires and Bo Griggs, my main tormentor and his girlfriend.

Madeline seemed anxious and I realized she must feel exposed without her trench coat or pens. Defiantly I placed an arm around her shoulders and faced Bo and Sherry.

"Didn't think we'd find you, freak?" Sherry said.

Bo nodded, "I'm glad we interrupted, the world doesn't need anymore retards—"

Madeline cut him off before he could finish, "I agree, you supply enough stupidity for aeons to come."

I blinked behind my glasses, speaking out wasn't wise...

"Shut up, bitch!" Sherry screeched her blonde hair (ironically the colour of straw) falling over her shoulder, coming undone from her bun.

Bo exhaled heavily, then pulled something out of his suit. I froze...he had a gun?

Madeline's eyes widened and Sherry rolled hers, "Bo, what the hell?"

Bo shook his head, "I'm so tired of that freak, she stabbed Marcus and has been sticking her nose where it doesn't belong."

Sherry looked like she was about to protest but Bo cut her off as he walked toward us, "No. Hey witch, why don't you do us all a favor and hang yourself from the roof?"

Madeline raised her eyebrow sarcastically but I felt her tremble as we backed away, "I'm afraid there's no rope, perhaps you could hand me the gun while I allow you to search for some."

Sherry snorted, "As if, did you honestly think that would work? Besides we don't need any _rope_," she scrunched up her nose, "Why don't you just jump?"

Bo sneered and drew nearer so we were only ten feet from the edge, "Yeah jump witch or I'll blow Scarecrow's brains out!"

She shook more but stopped walking and called out defiantly, "If I jump how will I know you won't shoot him or push him off the roof as well?"

"Madeline!" I started but Bo cut me off.

"Alright straw man can go home and you can watch him drive away from the parking lot then you jump. Got it?"

Sherry poked Bo's shoulder uncaring that he was holding a gun, "So he can go get help? Yeah right, if you want to kill the freaks push them both off the roof."

Madeline spoke up although she was shaking badly and her voice wavered, "A-are you so sure you want us dead? A double suicide causes a lot of grief, for weeks you'll hear of nothing but us. I don't think your ego's could handle it."

I groaned, "I don't think insulting them is going to—"

Madeline spoke up, "Or you could just shoot us both, double homicide sounds a bit better, at least then you'll be on the run so you won't have to hear about our 'tragic deaths'."

Bo frowned, "You sound like you _want_ to die, freak."

She didn't say anything so Bo stepped forward with a sick smile, "I know, I'll hand you the gun and force you to pull the trigger."

I swallowed, this wasn't going well...there was no escape, Bo had a gun! Things had never escalated so terribly.

"You're an ass, Bo. You'll leave finger—"

"Oh come on babe, I'm wearing gloves."

True to his word he was...this couldn't end well. This was supposed to be Madeline's best dance not her last! If only I could do something, offer my life instead or find some heroic way to get Bo away from the gun...but I couldn't. I wasn't brave, I wasn't the hero...and I never could be, not even for Madeline. Quickly I spoke up breaking my rule of silence, desperate to try something before I gave up completely.

"Do you think you could handle it, Bo? Knowing you killed someone? It won't go away, for the rest of your life you'll live in fear of getting caught, of someone knowing. You'll tear yourself apart in fear and paranoia."

Apparently reasoning was the wrong thing to do because Bo lunged forward and pulled Madeline from my grasp while Sherry stood watching with a nervous fascination. He pressed the gun in her hands and situated her finger behind the trigger. He then undid the safety and raised her trembling hand to her temple and held it there,

"Pull the trigger."

She swallowed then pushed forward but Bo held on even as she clawed at him with her free hand. He hissed and I saw scratches down his cheek. I ran toward Madeline but Bo held her up and pointed the gun at me. I stopped.

"Pull the trigger," he said and she looked horrified.

She shook her head and I saw tears falling down her face. Damn, why couldn't I do anything? It wasn't just the gun, it was the entire situation...I was powerless and I was scared. I HATED being scared but here I was, terrified and about to die.

"Fine then," he pushed her forward and kept a hand on her shoulder even though she was only two feet from the edge. Once more he aimed the gun at her head and forced her to hold it, "pull the trigger."

For a fearful moment nothing happened then Madeline looked at me and smiled more tears falling, "Sorry."

Without another word she pulled the trigger and Bo shoved her off the roof.

I screamed. I screamed in horror and pain, I fell to my knees and pulled at my hair. Bo pulled me up and for the first time I fought back. I kicked and punched my vision blurred by tears. He merely grunted and pushed me against the roof's door then repeatedly punched me while I heard Sherry exclaim, "Oh my god. Oh my god. Shit! Bo, what the hell? I didn't think you'd do—"

Apparently Bo had enough because he dropped me to the ground and turned to Sherry, "Shut the hell up we need to go before someone comes."

I was wheezing, I couldn't understand it...maybe Madeline wasn't dead! Quickly I pushed past Bo and Sherry then ran down the stairs, tripping down the last couple steps. Clumsily I made my way outside. Police cars had already pulled up and there was a crowd standing around the outer courtyard. Breathlessly I pushed past people ignoring their cries and saw...Madeline ?

No, no...this mangled creature wearing the same black lace dress wasn't Madeline...Where was her smile? Her eyes twinkling as she looked up at me? There was too much blood to see if those were her soft hands, slightly sweaty as I lead her up to the roof. Why that wasn't her, I didn't hear her giggle or quote literature. I couldn't feel her warmth as she hugged me, danced next to me. My neck didn't prickle with gooseflesh as she breathed on it thanking me for a wonderful night. No, I was supposed to drive her home. Tears built up in my eyes, I was supposed to spend the day with her and that scarecrow.

We were going to have a picnic in the cornfields...We'd laugh and tell stories, maybe she'd bring a book and read aloud. She would be my friend, the one person I could trust. I was supposed to take care of her. She—she...she was gone. I wouldn't be able to hug her or listen to her silly ramblings. I wouldn't be able to invite her over to my house, my grandmother's remarks aside. I wouldn't be able to watch her as she laughed in the sun, her brown and blonde hair shining in the sun revealing bits of red. I wouldn't be able to take her out on dates or adventures. I wouldn't be able to buy her books or more flowers. I wouldn't...I couldn't...because she was dead.

A sort of cold came over me, a dangerous cold that quickly grew molten. I was going to tell, I'd tell them all. I would find an officer and tell him everything. Madeline, my breathing hitched, may be gone but her killers weren't...They would pay, feel the pain I felt, the loss...the fear.


	3. Chapter 3: Scarecrow

**Ello! Minion here, I hope you've enjoyed story so far. Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins or anythign affiliated with it. With that in mind, enjoy!**

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><p>...One week later...<p>

I stood in the bright Georgia sun, uncaring as a bit of sweat rolled down my neck. Without a word I made three solemn knocks on the door. This time a man answered, his eyes were glazed and he hadn't dressed for the day or for many days seeing as his white shirt was heavily stained by sweat and food.

I cleared my throat, "I-I was Madeline's date that night...I wanted to apologize and help you in any way I can."

The man sneered and opened the door walking through the trash that hadn't been there, "Fine ya ya, whatever. Go to her room if ya need, I was gonna throw that junk out anyway."

I swallowed my anger, surely he was just in a dark place, grieving over his daughter—

"That lazy bitch did no good around here, take whatever she hoarded up in her room," loudly he belched then closed the door behind me. Repulsed I quickly walked down the hallway and saw police tape over one of the doors...the police. What useless trash—no there was another time for that.

I entered the room slowly...this was _her_ room. Where she spent her mornings and nights, reading perhaps. Inside I wasn't surprised. Apart from a large bed with scarlet and black covers the room was filled with books and large binders. For a moment I just stood there...taking in everything. The cool shadows that played on her desk, filled with binders and—a paper? I walked closer and saw a poem.

_How lonely the Scarecrow cries,_

_Surrounded by dried fields and empty skies._

_The dark birds come by: day through day,_

_Out for the Scarecrow's precious hay._

_Such vengeful creatures, these crows are._

_Haunting these dead fields hopeful to mar_

_The sweet Scarecrow's charge._

_Hiding in stalks long fried by the sun's rays so large._

_When their efforts are foiled,_

_By the fields (now useless) where the Scarecrow's toiled._

_They turn their fury,_

_Upon his sweet patched face, button eyes forlorn and weary. _

_No one protests as his dusty clothes, worse for wear_

_Earn yet another tear._

_Blind eyes never see,_

_How these blasted birds pick at the Scarecrow's loosening seams. _

_The binding ropes wear into the Scarecrow's arms,_

_Turning his warning into a sagging embrace, yearning for palms._

_Yet these palms are not of the monetary kind._

_No, the Scarecrow begs for someone to find_

_His post, bleached by the pressing sun;_

_And offer some sanctum to him before he becomes fully undone. _

I was frozen...How eerily similar that poem was to...myself. While I wanted to preserve this room for eternity I knew her father (?), brother (?), whatever that man was, wouldn't allow me to stay for long. Gingerly I picked up the poem then opened one of the binders. A long stream of words stared back. For a moment I was confused before I realized this was her writing...Some was typed others were hand written but each was divided in its rightful place. Placing the scarecrow poem inside I then looked for other binders and found each to be filled the the brim with writing of some sort.

After collecting all five of these (quite a heavy load), I looked about her room once more. There were so many books...books she must have loved, pouring over day in and day out. I paused in wonderment then noticed she left a book on her bed. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I realized that must have been the last book she read before she...no I wouldn't think of it now.

I neared and found there to be two books on her bed. The first was 'Mother Goose'—wasn't that a nursery book with rhymes for children? Looking at the next I saw a worn copy (the spine bare but still attached) of the Brothers Grimm. As I picked up the second book I turned it over to find another title 'Hans Christian Anderson'. Hmm, a double sided book of fairy tales. I placed those atop the binders then glanced to her many books before chiding myself. I wasn't here to pick up books for myself, my grandmother might find them and see 'the devil's work' within them...I'd never forgive myself if she burned them.

I sighed and sat on her bed sinking into the soft mattress...She was truly gone, my eyes stun but I willed myself not to cry. I told myself I wouldn't cry after that night—no, not here. Not when I was surrounded by her things,I wouldn't think of it. I stood and looked to her closet, wondering what interesting clothes she collected. Upon opening the door I found all manner of clothing both from this era and others: parcels, petticoats, masks, laced nightgowns, regular jeans and shirts, overcoats, bonnets, hats of every size. It seemed like a miniature store of antiques.

There was nothing I would take from here...what was that? Kneeling down I reached toward the dark box and realized it was an old fashioned picnic basket. I opened it to find it's large and hollowed center. I suppose this would help me carry those binders...and it certainly looked old enough that my grandmother wouldn't question it. If she ever came up to my attic that is.

I stood with the basket then gently closed the doors and placed the binders and books within it. The basket was so large it hadn't filled entirely but I had no use for anything else. What a shame these books would go to waste...I scanned the titles longingly but one particular book caught my eye: "Psychology: Fear". That was an odd title.

I neared the bookcase and saw it to be part of a collection of psychology books. I took out the books and scanned the table of contents from each one yet I found no interest in books about human interactions, mental illnesses, or other things...No, it was the first book that I was interested in: fear...The very emotion I've felt most my life. Fear was the emotion I wanted others to feel. Fear was what I wanted to control...

I placed the lone psychology book in the picnic basket then decided to leave. I exited the room and found the man to be passed out on the couch...disgusting. Without a word I left the apartment and didn't turn back...I had a date with a scarecrow.

Ever since her—that night, I spent my days at the cornfields I had detested, sitting beside the very scarecrow she had pointed out earlier that night. Due to her—that night, the school was given a week off and I used that time to meet the scarecrow she was so partial to. At first I was angry. I glared at the scarecrow, hated his entire existence. The irony of it was not lost on me, we shared the same name and in a way my anger was directed toward myself but since I had an _actual_ scarecrow around I blamed him.

Once my anger died down I noticed how he unnerved me. _"Do you think he's lonely?" _that was what she had asked me. As I looked at him those first few days he seemed frightening. He stood tall, imposingly looking over the dead cornstalks as if _he_ was tyrant. How could someone so creepy, so malicious be lonely? I sat on the dirt, my back against the crackling stalks behind me, sick of the heat and of the sun but unwilling to leave. Of course the tall, dried out cornstalks shielded me from the direct heat but it was still everywhere. Spring was coming and it was obvious.

The next few days I brought a book and read in the fields although my attention was continuously drawn toward the odd, straw stuffed scarecrow in front of me. He probably had all manner of insects burrowing deep inside him...Even his buttoned eyes and stitched mouth were crudely made. Instead of a smile or frown he had a gaping mouth, twisted in a fearsome grimace. The straw which poked out from his hat seemed rotten and diseased. Surely such a creature wasn't sanitary.

It was only as the week drew to a close I realized that the scarecrow _was_ lonely...It wasn't his appearance that convinced me nor was it the silent manner in which he stayed sagging against the post, it was what happened around him. Birds flew carelessly over, at times they would land on him and begin to pick at his eyes. One succeeded in pulling free a faded button causing me to stand and wave my lanky arms about, yelling in protest. For a moment the bird looked at me questioningly then flew off. I felt a sort of protectiveness over that gruesome scarecrow.

Day in and day out he stayed. The cornstalks moved in the breeze talking with whispered rustles, the sky moved stretching out clouds as they rolled on the wide expanse of open air, even the damned crows moved flying overhead and sometimes swooping down to pick at the scarecrow, but he never moved. Yes the wind flirted with his faded clothes, drooping straw hair, and loose rope, of course the filthy birds jostled him and drew more straw to the surface as they ripped away his crudely sewn skin, but the scarecrow himself didn't do anything but sag tiredly against his restraints.

I felt a sort of _connection_ between us. While he was ugly (although I was no comparison for beauty) and filthy I saw past that. He was made cruel by the careless stitches of his master just as I was bitter due to my grandmother's stern hand and hard cane. He wore old clothes that didn't even match just as I wore worn clothes that often tore with age and wear. I was called Scarecrow at school for my gangly arms and legs whilst he was made a scarecrow by his master's wishes. He was poverty ridden and I knew that only too well. He wasn't even paid for his advances, just strung up and tortured by the sun and plaguing birds.

Breaking myself from my thoughts I parked my grandmother's car off on a dirt road I had discovered, then took the picnic basket with me as moved through the rustling cornstalks to the scarecrow.

I smiled nervously, as always, for some days he was worse for wear. After all I couldn't be there to guard him all the time and more recently I've been noting small rips in his shirt that weren't there before, or a more porous area from which straw seeped out freely.

"Hello there...I went to—I went to her house today," I became accustomed to speaking with him when I was troubled or just for the idea of having someone who would listen.

"Her house has changed...I saw her room too, it looked just as I thought it would...books everywhere—" my voice cracked so I cleared my throat and tapped the black picnic basket, "I brought some books too. Did you know she writes? From what I've read it's quite dark, different than I would have expected..."

I paused as if waiting for a response and almost as if prompting me along, the wind lifted a drooping rope.

I nodded, "Yea, she even wrote a poem about you...well us I suppose. Would you like to hear it? It's a bit sad, I'm afraid, but it gave me an idea."

I paused to take out the paper from the first binder. I looked to his face with holes for eyes (the other button had disappeared while I was gone) then with a calm voice I repeated the poem, glancing up occasionally at the scarecrow as if he'd give some reaction. When I was finished I placed the paper back in the binder and hugged my knees to my chest.

"I miss her...barely knew her but she...she cared. She cared and it got her killed."

I was beginning to rise up my fury.

"I tried telling the police, to report Bo and Sherry. Told them everything that happened, practically quoted them word for word...but they didn't believe me. Told me Madeline was suicidal, said they investigated her from teachers and her family and there was no use in figuring otherwise.

"I was angry...so very angry. Told them of Bo's face, how she scratched him. Urged them to check her nails or his face. Then after they interviewed both Bo and Sherry... I learned they lied their way out and their 'friends' provided an alibi. Even Bo's cheek was smooth, Sherry must have covered it up by makeup."

I looked up at the scarecrow, glaring, "They killed her and they got away with it. They lied and they were unpunished. No one even held a ceremony for Madeline, just brushed it off with some vacation. No offer for a candle light memorial, no plans for an assemble, nothing..."

I turned to the ground digging my hands into my legs, "It's not right! I was too scared to do anything while they scared _her_ into pulling the trigger! Fear! It's always been about fear."

I stood up and began to pace in front of the scarecrow, "My life has been ruled by fear and her life was ended by it. I've had enough. Bo and Sherry will pay!"

And so I kneeled down to the picnic basket and opened it up brushing past the nursery rhymes of mother goose for the psychology book. I pushed my glasses further up on my nose and smiled darkly as I stroked the cover, "Oh yes, they will pay..."


	4. Chapter 4: Prom Night

**Ello! Minion here, hope you've enjoyed the story so far. Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins or anything affiliated with it. With that in mind, enjoy!**

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><p>...The Day Before Senior Prom...<p>

The school was abuzz with the new of Prom seeing as there was only one day before the actual event; however, it seemed much more...festive than usual. Of course my usual tormentors still found ways to taunt me, using _her_ death to goad me into action. I grew numb to it. I was thankful of Madeline but I was also angry. It wasn't just how she was killed or how _they_ got away with it. It went beyond that. Yes, tomorrow I would punish Bo and Sherry, _scare_ them as they scared others into silence and submission, but also I would open a new door within my life.

Graduation was almost here and I eagerly awaited it. My grades were near perfect and I was the top of all my classes. My teacher's adored me and each promised wonderful letters of recommendation to whichever college I wished to attend. College in question wasn't an issue, I wished to become a professor in psychology to further my research in fear and I knew Georgia wasn't a...favorable place to begin my search. Money was a slight issue and while I raised plenty of money during odd jobs and such things, I needed (and was assured) a scholarship to leave the state for college.

In a way I was giddy as to my approaching freedom. I would be gone from this wretched place, from these terrible people...then one day, I'd return for my revenge. It was my doting teachers who were the fools if they thought I respected them. Ha! I could teach their classes better than they were able. Even the town itself was foolish if they believed themselves to be safe from me. I would awaken a terror within them so strong it would cause utter, destructive chaos! Yes, I was vengeful—how could I not be? My entire life this town has bear witness to my torture with a smile, covering up my silent pleas with sickening lies and false pride of my tormentors' achievements. This town stood by while I was being hurt, while Madeline had been murdered!

I wanted them all to pay, to feel the fear I did. I was unsure as how to start but I had a few...interesting ideas—But enough of that, first I had to talk to Sherry.

I neared her before class had begun, she was the only one in the room aside from a trio of gossiping girls on the other side of the room and a loner in the back listening to music.

"Sherry..." I said and she looked at me, her eyes first widening then narrowing.

"What do _you_ want?"

"Why did you lie," I asked nonplussed, staring deeply into her green eyes.

"Excuse you?"

I glared, "You know what I'm talking about, that night...why did you lie? Were you _scared_ of getting caught? Were you _afraid_ Bo would leave you if you stopped him?"

She swallowed clearly uncomfortable and then scoffed, "As if, I have no idea what you're talking about..._freak_."

She drew out the word and I pushed my glasses up further on my nose, "Yes you do, you're just too _scared_ to say anything—"

"What the hell, leave me alone!" she shot back slightly louder than need be.

That drew the attention of a fellow jock who had just entered the room and now walked up with his chest puffed out, "That freak bothering you, Sherry?"

She frowned at me but once she saw my eyes she faltered, "N-no..." she then turned to the jock and laughed superficially, "He just asked me to prom! What a loser..."

I exhaled and ignored the taunts as I took my seat...I was hoping to find an answer before I took my revenge. I suppose that was my mercy, if she confessed I'd spare her. Bo on the other hand wouldn't receive anything even similar to pity. He didn't deserve it...and apparently neither did Sherry.

...The Night Of Prom...

Most teenagers would be preparing for prom in a bathroom or bedroom: checking over their outfit, fixing their hair, maybe their makeup if they were a woman, but either way they would be obsessed with their face, looking forward to being seen in glamorous light even if only for a moment. How pathetic...Instead of readying myself in my room or the bathroom I was in my garage. My grandmother had gone to sleep earlier with the belief that I was staying in, so she would supply my alibi if I ever were to be suspected...but I wouldn't be.

I shifted slightly in the still itchy (I missed a few pieces of the straw) shirt from the scarecrow in the fields. In order to set him free I took him down and dissembled him for his parts. Much to my surprise he wasn't infested with insects or moldy, he was just a scarecrow made of straw and old clothes. I emptied out all the straw, or so I had thought, then carefully made my way into his skin (a kind of morbid thought). Whoever had designed this scarecrow I was thankful toward. They sewed the head to the shirt yet left the buttons intact so they were able to continuously stuff the body with straw. This acted as an entryway for me to step inside the costume which felt like a second skin.

Thanks to the troublesome crows the buttons were gone leaving only two ragged eye holes which was enough for me to see through. I patted myself down to make sure I was ready, true the bottom of the scarecrow's outfit felt odd over my shoes but it would do. Curiously I looked into a mirror that hung just over the stairwell in the garage. My eyes widened at the effect: I was gruesome, terrifying...I was perfect.

Not wanting to risk bringing the car, I began walking in the fading sun. I knew I would reach the school around the time the earliest attendants would appear. Among all of them I should find Bo and Sherry, after all they bragged about their new car and I knew almost every detail from eavesdropping (including the cherry car freshener hanging from the windshield which Sherry bought because she 'hated that gross, new car smell you know?').

Yes, they would pay tonight...I've planned this for months: waiting, watching, planning for this exact day. There was no use on mourning Madeline any further than tonight. After this event, this closure, I'd put her past me. I wasn't ungrateful, I was actually deeply touched by her. After pouring over her stories and poems I found a lot of it to be disturbing to say the least...dark, morbid, yet sickeningly happy. She'd find odd ways to depict a horrifying event in a cherry manner that left me perplexed. Although it wasn't as confusing as the strange journal entries she wrote.

They were scarce and long, only dated at the end and mixed in with her other works but it intrigued me. I learned of her fears, what plagued her mind...She wrote them in a ranting sort of way, using her skills as a writer to spin a dark train of thought which I found myself sucked into. I learned she was deeply depressed, often pondering on suicide or other dark matters. Apparently her psychology books were read for a greater value than a search for knowledge. Often Madeline wrote about her fear of insanity (or rather _her_ insanity), while comparing her morbid thoughts and impulses to the books she read. It was very disturbing to know someone who smiled and easily connected with me could be so...unstable.

I knew she was odd, if not for the things she said but how she continuously stabbed people but I hadn't suspected her actually being _insane_. Whether or not she was didn't matter because she was dead. From her death I was able to learn much about the mind...and fear. Within her detailed, dark writing, fear was often the prevailing emotion aside from anger or confusion. That coupled with the psychology book I had taken, deepened my interest in that unpleasant emotion. Yes, I would look forward to a grand library at a university, filled with books on the mind...books written solely on _fear_.

The fading sun roasted me within the full, itchy costume. It was worth it though. I'd take the blistering heat in return for a complete disguise for my plan. Although I was surprised no one had driven by already and reported me. In a way I felt an odd sense of _thrill,_ thinking that at any moment someone would drive through and see a ghastly scarecrow wielding a gun as he walked along the road. No matter that everything would be ruined...my last tribute to Madeline, the beginning of my life. I just couldn't bring myself to move deeper into the shadows of the cornfields. Instead I'd let them see. I wouldn't hide anymore.

'Scarecrow' they taunted me, 'straw man' they called out...yes, I was. Before I was strung up for abuse until Madeline opened a door to me. When she died I took the incentive and untied myself from my desolate post. While I wore my poverty in my faded clothes and grisly appearance I would inspire the same _fear_, no worse _fear_, into my rich, undeserving 'peers'.

After my last...gift to them, I'd settle down. Avoiding suspicion should be easy enough, after all I was moving on to better and greater things. These simpletons didn't deserve my presence and made it _very_ clear from a young age. My mother treated me no differently, perhaps a bit colder but left me to my lonesome self...I preferred that over my grandmother who once locked me in the old neighboring church with 'the good book' to impel some religious gratitude or some other rubbish.

What my grandmother neglected to mention was the church's utter vacancy...it had been abandoned years ago and only housed birds daily...I shuddered remembering that day. Oh those birds, what loathsome creatures who (as I learned) did _not_ take kindly to my 'intrusion'.

_The moment I entered the arching house of God, they flocked over me. In a panic I lashed out against their feathers that brushed past me and their hard beaks which pecked at my outstretched fingers. There was no escape from these mindless devils. At least with my grandmother's baptisms I'd have the chance of passing out from a lack of breath allowing me some reprieve from the chilling, dirty water which would 'cleanse' me. _

_That night I rested unto myself, huddled in the corner without any light, food, or warmth. Where was God's healing hand now? I was in his house of worship, wasn't I? I was alone, humbled by the foul creatures that resided here. I felt no strange epiphany or 'touch' of the holy spirit which often incurred my grandmother's rages with her cane. There was nothing but silence and the occasional shuffle of the nesting birds. I hated this place, hated these birds, hated my bitter grandmother and cold mother, but most of all I hated God. _

_He was the blame for it all. Useless in every way as he offered false promises of safety and love. Where was my safety? Where was my love? I stood and waved at the upturned altar, "Where are you?"_

_The birds let out indignant squawks but I paid them no mind as I spoke with a cracking voice, "Where were you my entire life?"_

_The church fell silent aside from my panting as I angrily stared at my surroundings. There was no use in trying the door, somehow my grandmother had locked it. The windows stretched too high for me to reach and then there was those blasted birds._

_"Why? Why won't you answer me? You helped them! Gave my grandmother the strength to beat me with her cane! Gave my mother the patience to ignore my existence!" When I had no reply I threw the useless bible at a standing pew which shook causing an angry flock of crows to rise. _

_"I don't need you!" I yelled but was suddenly overcome by the descending creatures. _

_I cried out, curling into myself as I was surrounded, overwhelmed, by the birds. The noise was deafening as the menacing birds pecked at my skin, biting (I didn't know crows bit) my hands, my neck, my face if I shifted slightly. I felt their sharp talons scratch at my hair, pulling on the strands. The shrill calls rang in my ears as I was stuck in this hell of crows. Was this a punishment? Was I being taught God's wrath for denouncing him and rejecting his Word? If so I'd be dammed twice because I wouldn't repent! _

_After what seemed to be a hellish eternity, the birds left and I slowly raised my head only to duck down as I felt a straggling crow peck my hairline instead of my glasses. With a squawk that one was also gone but I didn't bother moving. The entire night I stayed just like that, kneeled over myself on the floor, hands hugging my sides as my forehead pressed into the ground painfully while I tried to bunch in on myself. At times I'd feel the crows as they flew over, I'd hear the shifting in the air the scratching of their clawed feet. Yet even when they perched on my shaking form I refused to move..._

_For hours I was frozen. I zoned in and out of awareness but never relaxed my position. It was only when the door shuddered behind me and I heard my grandmother's gravelly cough that I had come to anticipate and hate. _

_"Jonathan! You lazy boy, have you learned God's lesson?"_

_I achingly outstretched from my position and cried out against my sore, cramped muscles. _

_"Is that a complaint, Jonathan? Do you reject the teachings huh? Where's the good book?"_

_I froze, oh no, I had thrown it at the pew...Grandmother—_

_There was a sharp blow to my back and I winced but stood shakily knowing the beatings for idleness were worse than the cruel fasting of pride. _

_"T-the birds, Grandmother...they—"_

_"Lies, boy!" she waved her cane at me her wrinkled face seeming to stretch inhumanly as the angry words spilled from her mouth, "All creatures are creatures of God, they do not sin as man does. You lie, stuttering with the devil gripping your tongue."_

_With wide eyes I shook my head but she picked up the book tenderly, with a sort of reverence I had never received, before squinting her beady eyes at me, "Have you learned, boy?"_

_I swallowed hating my obedience but too fearful to do anything else, "Yes, Grandmother."_

_"Recite boy, from the book of Judges." _

_I nodded quickly knowing which passage she was referring to. It was her favorite and she often mocked me with the words I had come to memorize. With a well learned humility I recited the passage._

_" 'And yet they would not hearken unto their judges, but they went a-whoring after other gods, and bowed themselves unto them: they turned quickly out of the way which their fathers walked in, obeying the commandments of the LORD; but they did not so. _

_And when The LORD raised them up judges, then the LORD was with the judge, and delivered them out of the hand of their enemies all the days of the judge: for it repented the LORD because of their groanings by reason of them that oppressed them and vexed them. _

_And it came to pass, when the judge was dead, _that _they returned, and corrupted _themselves _more than their fathers, in following other gods to serve them, and to bow down unto them; they ceased not from their own doings, nor from their stubborn way. _

_And the anger of the Lord was hot against Israel'—"_

_"Good, boy, good...but even the devil can quote the scripture. What did you learn?"  
>With lowered eyes (hiding my glare) I replied, "I have corrupted myself with the other gods and incurred God's-"I quickly glanced up trying to gauge what mood she was in, she had her eyes trained on me in a hard way but I saw tears at the edges, "loving, receiving hand-" had she seemed superior I would have claimed God's 'wrath' but if I spoke against his 'holiness' she often grew cross. She was truly an impossible woman, " which showed me the error of my ways."<em>

_She frowned, her mouth twisting so sharply I was surprised the thin, papery flesh didn't tear, "What god did you bow to? What god do you reject now?"_

_I looked down so lying would come easier, "Science, I repented from its teachings."_

_She clicked her tongue and I looked up, "I act as the judge which waits with God's grace, you may have repented but how do I know you won't sully yourself worse than your whoring mother did with that damned man?"_

_I looked up and quoted once more this time from the book of Isaiah, " 'Therefore the LORD shall have no joy in their young men, neither shall have mercy on their fatherless and widows: for every one _is _a hypocrite and an evildoer, and every mouth speaketh folly. For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand _is _stretched out still.'"_

_She frowned deeply and continued the quotation, "Be mindful of others, Jonathan 'For wickedness burneth as the fire it shall devour the briers and thorns, and shall kindle in the thickets of the forest, and they shall mount up _like _the lifting up of smoke.' One day there won't be another to show you mercy but the Lord's judging eye."_

_My stomach turned with revulsion and anger but I willed myself to remain calm. _

_"Enough of this idleness boy!"_

_Without another word she shoved the 'good book' in my hands and made her way out of the church, I made to follow her but she stopped me, "I'll return at dusk, pray for forgiveness..." her eyes pierced into me, "You'll need it to repent your sinful life," she sighed and pressed a hand to her head, "Such kindness, it exhausts me to spend my energy on a damned fool like you," suddenly she looked up and snarled, "To hell with you, boy!"_

_Before I could even blink she shut the doors and once more I was left in the dark..._

I clenched my fists, thankful that the gun was on safety. She locked me in that horrid church when I was twelve... I'd never forget the horrible things that woman did, I'd never forgive my mother for standing by uncaring as I was unnecessarily punished—But enough of that, I was nearing the school's parking lot and already it was dark although barely anyone had arrived. I felt sweat run down my calf and used my other leg to dry it with the combined fabric of my pants under the scarecrow's outfit. It was truly sweltering in here but it was worth it...

I positioned myself in the bushes, watching as cars pulled up and happily chatting friends or lovestruck couples made their way to the door. I pushed down my pang of longing and sadness as I realized that was what Madeline and I must have looked like on our arrival at homecoming—no nevermind that, I was waiting for them.

I shifted my weight, feeling eager and giddy all over. Part of me was hyped up, I was actually going to do this! The other, more rational side, urged me to be cautious. Jumping in front of a car would hardly be productive but it'd be hard to scare _them_ in particular if they swarmed with everyone else as the gun went off. I wasn't planning to kill anyone...just scare them, _badly_.

A silver car began its crawl up the slight hill of the school's parking lot and my breathing hitched as I recognized it...there was even that cherry car freshener swaying under the rear view mirror. Due to the school's position they'd have to speed down the hill and then make their way into the parking lot. Many cars sped past this hill easily slowing in time to turn and I hoped they would as well. I had only a moment to act and so I waited long enough to recognize Sherry's gold hair before running out in the open in front of the speeding car. I waved the gun in the air then pointed it at them.

Their reaction was immediate. Tires squealed as Bo turned the wheel harshly, his eyes bulging in surprise as his mouth moved and I made out a few swears. Sherry on the other hand shrilly screamed, oh how I relished the sound, and wore a mask of pure horror on her face as she brought her hands up to shield herself.

I turned and watched with glee as the car went over the median and sped over a curb, Bo must have tried to steer away from the quickly approaching fence and tried to brake but I saw Sherry grab at him and he batted her away distractedly before the car sped up. Perhaps he pressed the gas instead of the brake? Either way it didn't matter, I watched completely enraptured as the car sped toward a tree near the entryway of the parking lot. Although the tires dug in the dirt it was no match against momentum and gravity as the car crashed into the tree, folding on either end.

This quickly drew attention so I ran back to the bush and quickly pulled off the scarecrow outfit in order smoothed over my suit I wore so it would seem I was attending the dance. Hurriedly I ran my hand through my hair, made damp from sweat. I quickly wrapped the gun (with a full barrel of bullets) inside the scarecrow's body, checking the safety lock. I shoved it deep within the juniper bush then put on my glasses allowing the world to come into focus as I rushed toward the small crowd of gathering onlookers. I had kept my glasses in my suit's pocket to wear later seeing as there was no use with the scarecrow's face over mine, I'd only fog my glasses from my breath if not scratch it from the rough burlap.

While I would come back for the gun before anyone investigated the area around the school, I wanted to get a closer look at the car's inhabitants. I joined the gasping and crying crowd as many drew cell phones to either take pictures or call friends. In the distance I heard an ambulance and police car but I only peered at the car and saw a large bloody smear against the windshield on Sherry's side. Bo, on the other hand, was halfway out of the car due to the windshield cracked which allowed his body to rest mangled over it.

I felt a savage delight. I caused that! I scared them with a gun just as Bo had a few months earlier and just like then it was _they_ who killed themselves! The fear of either running into a fearsome creature or being shot forced them off the road and to their demise! I hadn't even taken the safety off or said one word and I literally _scared_ them to death! Or was it death? I paused for a moment in my joy, had I killed them? I wouldn't feel guilt if I had, they deserved it...but I was morbidly curious. Were they truly gone?

By now the sirens arrived and paramedics quickly rushed onto the scene while policemen began to usher us away. Taking their incentive and worried about my scarecrow outfit with the gun, I calmly walked away in a small group of crying girls (who I recognized as Sherry's friends) as they struggled up the hill probably waiting for a ride by the side of the road. On the way up, I diverged from the group and swiftly grabbed the bundle before quickly walked into the nearby cornfields as began my way home feeling victorious. And so began my new life, vengeance had been achieved but there was more to come...much more.


	5. Chapter 5: The End

**Ello! Minion here, I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. Also I do not in any way, shape, or form own Batman/Batman Begins or anything affiliated with it. With that in mind, enjoy!**

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><p>This was it. I clicked shut the lock of my suitcase. It was near the end of my last week within this house. Graduation was held a bit later due to the 'tragic death' of Sherry Squires and the less than stable state Bo was in. In fact I had already accepted my diploma and declined the invitation to walk with the rest of my graduating class. Instead I used this time to visit Bo in the hospital. He looked so...different that day, so <em>afraid<em>.

_The bright sun shined happily in congratulating me as I entered the town's hospital. Half a month had passed and already a funeral procession had been held for Sherry atop of a damned assemble at school...nevermind the wrongly forced death of Madeline, who was _forced_ to kill herself, but a prom nightmare leaving the student body president dead and her loyal, popular boyfriend in the hospital? Who could resist the appeal...Well I suppose that held too much sarcasm, I never did like such dry humor but I found it ironic in a rich way. _

_I figured enough time had passed where it wouldn't seem too suspicious for a fellow schoolmate to visit his hurt peer in the hospital. Even if it wasn't there was nothing anyone could do. I learned that Bo was paralyzed from the neck down and even then his vocal cords had been severely damaged. He couldn't do more than rasp hoarse whispers which were guttural at best. _

_Serves him right...Nodding pleasantly toward the attendant I asked for directions and was shown the way to his room. _

_"Poor guy, heard his girlfriend died. It's such a tragic loss..." the attendant frowned then smiled at me sweetly, "Well it's nice that his friends are visiting, no one has come by except his parents."_

_She flashed me one more smile then walked away leaving me to calmly stride into the room. While all hospitals were bleak and bare, this room seemed to be the poster child for the desolation most patients suffered. Of course when one was deathly ill, in agonizing pain, going into labor, or undergoing surgery any sense of décor was frowned upon—why should the suffering have colour or designs? Oh, there I was being sarcastic again...While I understood a sterile, easily cleaned environment was needed, these walls seemed to eat away at my chipper mood. _

_Bo was sitting up, well leaning against the elevated bed near a small table which was bare without so much as a card, when I entered the room. When he saw me his eyes widened fearfully. There was a terrible groaning and I realized he was trying speak. I neared him smiling happily, "Hello, _Bo._"_

_He tried to speak again and I barely made out a muffled word: Scarecrow. _

_I nodded, "I'm glad you recognized me, didn't think you ever paid me much mind..." unless of course you were beating me and making my life hell. _

_His eyes flickered around fearful and I drank in the sight, relishing every pained movement he made. I cleared my throat as my glasses slid down my nose when I glared at him, "It's such a shame Madeline wasn't able to be here...You remember Madeline right? You should, we all met at homecoming..."_

_More strangled whimpers escaped him and I looked at him darkly, "How are you feeling, Bo?"_

_Scared I hope...you deserve this! _

_Hoping to induce more fear and pain I continued, "Sherry died that night—"_

_A loud grunt interrupted me and he seemed panicked with worry._

_I paused a bitter smile playing at my lips, "Oh, did no one tell you?"_

_I saw tears prickle at his eyes as he whimpered...oh how delicious the sight was._

_"I heard the seatbelt decapitated her, although her last moments were filled with such terror I'm surprised she wasn't killed from a heart attack...Then again you didn't wear your seatbelt, did you Bo? I saw your body, sticking out through the windshield. You looked so _worried _before you crashed, so _afraid_...Why was that? Were you scared to hit me? Were you scared of me? Or perhaps you were fearing the gun I held?"_

_I continued to taunt him quietly, knowing he could hear everything but enjoying the fact that my back was turned to the window so even if someone passed by they wouldn't be able to hear me or see the words I spoke. _

_I sighed and looked at him disgustedly, "Well I'm afraid I'm pressed for time and really should be going...I hope you'll think through what happened that night. I wonder if the guilt will eat you alive? You killed my only friend and thought you could hide it behind your fake friends and popularity. Now your girlfriend is dead and you're all alone, unable to tell anyone even if you wanted to. You can't even move to write down my name. Enjoy your misery, Bo...because I will."_

_Without another word I turned out and walked away without looking back._

I sighed happily remembering what had happened. I took justice, no revenge, into my own hands and I came out triumphant. Only now that lifestyle was gone. No longer would I be called scarecrow or straw man, I wouldn't be bullied for my bookish looks or slight stutter which I found disappeared a bit more each day. No, I was beyond that. I was moving to the east coast in a city called Gotham where I was accepted into the University with a scholarship, all expenses including room and board paid in full. Finally I would be free of this old house, my evil grandmother and neglectful mother, even the very town which tormented me for years...but I would return. One day when I was powerful and successful I would come back to take my revenge.


End file.
